I wasn’t even thinking of her when I finally saw her. It wasn’t the birght mismatched colors that caught my eye, for she didn’t wear those anymore—back to hiding in sweatshirts.

What caught my eye was her very sad presence. Arms crossed, head down, tripping over her own toes.

Where was that cat walk strut that made people encourage her to model at an innocent age of thirteen?

I closed my locker very slowly, sure that if she heard its slam, she’d turn around, despite the numerous other banging and clanking around us.

But I didn’t want to see her face. I was scared for what emotion would lay there. Relief? Depression? She sure as hell didn’t walk with an air of happiness.

“Charlie,” a voice like summer said, with strange irritation.

I jumped. And after reminding myself that Maarleigh was already long down the corrider, I turned around.

“Hey, that’s my name don’t wear it o-” I stopped mid-tease because I was suddenly staring into a pair of cloudless skyblue eyes, Cyd.